


Always Been You

by Squishychickies



Series: When You're Ready [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Alpha Bruce Wayne, Alpha Jason Todd, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Canon-Typical Violence, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson-centric, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd is Red Hood, M/M, Omega Dick Grayson, Protective Jason Todd, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:41:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27152614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squishychickies/pseuds/Squishychickies
Summary: The villain notices his barely-perceptible falter and her eyes gleam. "Freeze, omega," she demands again, this time staring into his eyes even more assertively, and Nightwing has to squeeze his eyes shut against the compulsion to obey. He grips his escrimas so hard his knuckles turn white under the Nightwing suit. Huffing out a difficult, strangled breath, Dick manages somehow to resist. His instincts beg him to freeze, to drop his weapons, or at the very least bare his neck to placate the alpha. Somehow, through some secret reserve of willpower Dick didn't even know he has, he is able to shake off the compulsion with nothing more than a quick pause.But his moment of hesitation is enough. The villain moves quickly, and before he can dodge out of the way she has shoved a needle into his neck above his suit's collar, and injects him with something.He has barely a moment to think, Oh shit, before he blacks out and hits the ground hard.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Series: When You're Ready [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1981975
Comments: 15
Kudos: 388





	Always Been You

**Author's Note:**

> this is a continuation to another fic I wrote called Home to Me! You don't need to read that to understand this but it does provide a little context <3  
> Enjoy!
> 
> title is from Its U by Cavetown which is a lovely song

One omega stereotype that Dick absolutely despises is that all omegas are overly emotional. There are so many things wrong with that outdated, misogynistic idea, he doesn't even know where to start when composing a list of his complaints. 

For one, the word _overly_ implies that their emotions are invalid. Like they're not allowed to feel how they feel; like every response that even vaguely resembles emotion is an overreaction, and they really need to learn how to calm down, because they're being a bit ridiculous.

Even if that _was_ the case, though, the stereotype isn't even _true_ in many cases. Plenty of omegas are as slow to tears as their alpha and beta counterparts--being emotional is a trait just like any other in that it depends on the _person_. Every person is different, regardless of designation.

For example, torture will never make Dick cry. No matter how omega he may be. He does not cry, and he does _not_ submit. 

He is an experienced veteran at being tortured, unfortunately. From the moment he put on the cape and pixie boots, beginning his vigilante career at the totally reasonable age of nine, he has been tortured more times than he can count. More villains than he can even remember the names of have enjoyed the time-honored classic, _kidnap and torture Nightwing for information on Batman,_ and when that technique bears no fruit, they move on to a universal favorite, _torture Nightwing for shits and giggles._

And he recovers. Because he's strong, because he's a hero, and because people need him. And because he will _not_ let some low-life criminals end him.

That said--torture sucks _ass_. And not even in the fun way.

A couple of weeks ago, a new, never-before-seen supervillain invited herself to Bludhaven--quite without Nightwing's welcome. She's an alpha--a fact which she parades around with much more pride than the detail warrants--and an unusually strong one, at that. He hasn't captured her yet, so he doesn't have any concrete facts, but if he were to take a guess at the root of her powers, he would wager that her alpha instincts have been artificially amplified to grant her wolf-like traits that most people do not possess. She is a thief, and has targeted several important hospitals and scientific research centers to steal their supplies and samples. Presumably to aid her genetic-modification-related endeavors--because there is also evidence that she has kidnapped multiple people to experiment on.

Luckily, she's not inconspicuous--her scent is unusually strong, enough so that scent-blockers are at least partially ineffective on her. So last week, Nightwing was able to track her down and intercept her on the rooftops as she was preparing to lower herself into a hospital through the ceiling.

The fight was almost pathetically easy for Nightwing. Clearly, her area of expertise was not in hand-to-hand combat. He took her down easily, sustaining no injuries in the process. She was his third fight of the night, too, so he counted that as a win. By the time he had her wrists in a pair of zip ties, he was beyond ready to go home. And it looked like he would be able to as soon as he called the police to come pick up his catch of the night. 

Until she, writhing angrily with fury at having been caught and restrained, snapped in a powerful alpha-command, "Release me!"

And for the smallest, shortest second, Nightwing let go of her arms. 

Then he came back to himself, grabbed her before she could move, and restrained her even tighter, using brutal force to mimic that of an alpha. But by then it was too late. Her eyes had narrowed in a predatory glare, and she was smiling like a wolf. "No way," she said with a grin, nose twitching as she attempted to pick up his scent. "Nightwing is an omega!"

He did not deign to respond--there was nothing he could say to help his case, and if there was, damned if he knew what it was exactly. He knew his scent was protected by scent-blockers, and that she had no definite proof of his designation, but the suspicion could be dangerous. 

Nightwing handed her over to the police and had _assumed_ that was that.

Until now--she has broken out. According to police reports, she alpha-commanded the beta guards into releasing her, they had obeyed, and then she had just... walked out. Generally speaking Dick would be exasperated with the ineptitude of the guards, but having been shaken by that very same command, he finds he can't really blame them. She's just got a _really strong_ alpha-command. Damn her.

He runs into her again one night on patrol (and by _runs into,_ he means he tracked her down very purposefully). This time she is clearly prepared to run into him. When he swings down to meet her in an alleyway between rooftops, she flashes an eerily wolf-like grin.

"Hello again, omega," she taunts as he charges in for the attack. "Nice to see you."

"Can't say the same, I'm afraid." Nightwing aims a kick at her legs; she dodges, and retaliates with a punch that he easily blocks. "And I don't know why you think I'm an omega. Don't you read the _Gotham Times?"_ The _Gotham Times_ had recently published a hysterically inaccurate story (to call it an article would be an insult to all articles everywhere), which spent seven long pages questioning Nightwing's designation. It was titled, _NIGHTWING: Alpha, Beta, or Omega?_ It had featured a miraculous number of comedic gems, including several hilarious, helpful interviews kindly provided by criminals Dick had apprehended: _"He punches real hard, ain't no omega punch like that! Me, ain't no omega can take me down. That's an alpha if I ever saw one."_

She banters with him as they fight. Nightwing always likes an opponent who can banter. "You mean the one where they said you had to be an omega because your ass is too hot to be an alpha's?"

"That's the one!" The ass thing had been Team Omega's major argument, the piece of evidence they claimed was undeniable. It had been covered in astonishing detail--photos included. Damian had been traumatized reading it.

He swings his escrima at her in a vicious side-swipe, and it connects with a satisfying noise against her ribs. She doesn't wince, taking the blow in stride.

"I liked that one," she tells him, pulling a knife from her belt. She swings towards his face, and he dodges in the nick of time, narrowly managing to avoid what would have been a nasty slash to his forehead.

"Not the face, please," Nightwing requests cheekily as he backflips away from her slashing attacks. "Got a pretty boy reputation to uphold, if that works for you."

"Naturally."

They spar for several more minutes, neither gaining much ground. He had defeated her easily the other night, but that had been purely hand-to-hand. Now she has a knife, and it's becoming increasingly evident that she knows how to use it.

Also, not that Dick will ever admit it, he's not feeling his best at the moment. He is still recovering from his recent bout of heat sickness, and though Jason's care had been invaluable, he is still not in his top form. He's tired and achey, and would really like this fight to end soon, thank you very much. He has an urgent appointment with _going the fuck to sleep,_ and he does not wish to reschedule. 

His biggest worry is her alpha-command. Usually those affect Nightwing not at all, but the combination of her extra strong command and his lingering weakness could prove to be fatal. If she tries to command him it might just work, and Dick is not eager to see that happen. So it is crucial that he takes her down and restrains her _before_ that can happen. 

Unfortunately, she seems to have reached the same conclusion. As Nightwing advances on her, escrimas raised and ready to deliver brutal, damaging blows, she looks into his eyes through the lenses of his mask and snarls, "Freeze!"

Nightwing manages not to, just barely, and god it _hurts._ He's going directly against his instincts when he's already feeling like microwaved shit, and though he is able to disobey the order, his hits don't connect with nearly as much power as they should--she is barely dazed by blows that could have knocked her out under normal circumstances. He grits his teeth against the urge to freeze, just like alpha has told him to, and has to force himself to continue the fight.

The villain notices his barely-perceptible falter and her eyes gleam. "Freeze, omega," she demands again, this time staring into his eyes even more assertively, and Nightwing has to squeeze his eyes shut against the compulsion to obey. He grips his escrimas so hard his knuckles turn white under the Nightwing suit. Huffing out a difficult, strangled breath, Dick manages somehow to resist. His instincts beg him to freeze, to drop his weapons, or at the very least bare his neck to placate the alpha. Somehow, through some secret reserve of willpower Dick didn't even know he has, he is able to shake off the compulsion with nothing more than a quick pause.

But his moment of hesitation is enough. The villain moves quickly, and before he can dodge out of the way she has shoved a needle into his neck above his suit's collar, and injects him with something. 

He has barely a moment to think, _Oh shit,_ before he blacks out and hits the ground hard. 

\---

His head _hurts._ His stomach, too. He is aching all over. It takes Dick a few minutes to realize where he is, and what's happening.

He is chained to an uncomfortable wooden chair by his wrists, legs, and waist. He has been drugged--the fogginess in his head and nausea swirling in his stomach make that clear, though it is also evident that the effects are wearing off. 

It is dark, but the mask has decent night vision, so Nightwing is able to make out that he is in a basement of some sort. There is a computer set up against one wall, and a table covered in scientific supplies against the other. The entire place is full of medical paraphernalia, scattered all over the place with no discernible order. There are cages by the desk. Nightwing does not want to think about what--or who--they are meant to house.

He hears the villain's approach--and smells it--before he sees her, and he tenses up, prepared to fight. The chair is flimsy enough that he might be able to break it, once some of his strength returns. Then he can slide out of his chains and escape. It's not a foolproof plan, not by any means, but it is the only one he has to work with at the moment.

"Hello, Nightwing," purrs the voice of the villain. It sounds less like she is talking to him directly, and more like she is addressing an audience. Sure enough, as she steps into view, Nightwing sees that she he holding up a camera in one hand, recording.

"Hi," he responds simply. "Nice place. Very... torture-friendly. But can I go now? Things to do, places to be, I'm sure you understand."

She ignores him, striding closer gracefully. His heart sinks when he sees that in the hand not clutching the camera, she holds a knife. That's... not awesome. "I have a theory," she tells the camera, striding closer to Nightwing so that she can gently stroke his neck with the flat side of the knife. He leans away as far as he is able, but on account of being chained to a chair, that's not far. "You see, I think Nightwing here has been lying to us."

"Me?" he asks, trying to sound nonchalant and unsure if he's pulling it off. "Never."

She is quiet for a moment as she sets up the camera on a tripod--what Nightwing wouldn't give to just knock it over and see the camera smash--and once that is done, she comes towards him, putting her hands on his neck. He shivers uncomfortably. Her hands are cold. He would like her to stop touching him _\--now,_ preferably. 

"Let's see if I'm right." 

Nightwing sees what's about to happen moments before it occurs, and is painfully powerless to stop it as her long fingernails pull down the collar of his suit and peel away his scent blockers. 

He struggles away from her groping fingers, gritting his teeth, trying to naturally regulate his scent. It's possible, of course, to dampen it, but no one can hide their scent completely without blockers, and--

She breathes in deeply, and then exhales with a wolfish grin. "So I was right. Nightwing is an omega."

"Fuck you," he spits, hating that it's all he can do. When the drugs wear off a bit more, he'll smash through the wooden back of the chair, but he can't risk trying that before his strength has returned, and give away his hand. 

"Quiet, omega," she snaps. 

He takes great satisfaction in continuing to curse her out. Resisting is hard, almost impossible, but he's trained for this his entire life.

She scowls angrily, but the expression is gone moments later. "That's okay," she says, "you'll submit eventually." Turning to the camera, she smiles eerily. "I don't think your costume is very appropriate for a good omega. Let's take care of that."

Her cold, cold fingertips feel down his neck and back, searching for the zipper. When she finds herself unable to locate it, she _tsks_ like an exasperated parent and grabs the knife. Carefully, she begins to cut his suit off him.

He lunges away as far as he can considering his restraints, but all that accomplishes is slashing himself on the ridiculously sharp blade. "I wouldn't, if I were you, omega," she tells him, continuing to saw away at the black and blue kevlar. 

He struggles anyways--he'd rather get himself cut up a bit than submit like she so clearly wants. Her expression sours at his defiance, and she growls, "Submit, omega!"

He does not, and the next slash of the knife against his shoulder feels much more intentional.

She growls audibly, and the room is filled with the musk of angry alpha. Dick shudders. All of his instincts beg him to placate her, but he will not allow himself to submit for even an instant.

She is able to peel the suit down to his waist, but the chains securing him to the chair prevent her from going any further. Even so, that is much more skin exposed than he'd prefer. He feels cold and deeply uncomfortable, but he bares his teeth all the same, snarling and struggling in his restraints. 

"This omega is going to submit," she says, addressing both Dick and the camera. "We are going to show him how a _good omega_ treats his superiors."

She holds the knife to his shoulder, just above the cut that is already sluggishly leaking blood down his arm and chest. "Submit, omega," she orders softly.

He spits in her face. "Fuck you."

Just like that, she drives the knife into his shoulder, twisting and jerking in a way that is specifically designed to _hurt._ He can't help a pained gasp from escaping him, but does not scream or whine--how omegas are expected to act. 

She pulls the knife out of his shoulder, quicker than lightning, and it hurts almost as much as it had going in. The blood flowing down his arm gushes painfully, and he turns his gaze away--the gruesome sight is not helping his nausea. 

Instead of looking displeased at his resistance, the sight seems to delight the villain. She leans forward and _kisses_ the wound before pulling back and licking the blood from her lips. "I think we're going to have fun here, omega," she informs Nightwing.

He growls threateningly. "Bring it on."

\---

Jason gets home from patrol early that night feeling unusually pleased with himself. He has beaten an opposing drug lord into a little whiny pulp, and as such was pretty sure the guy would be avoiding his streets in Crime Alley for the foreseeable future. Technically there were a few more items--or victims--on the Red Hood's to-do list, but none of them were urgently pressing matters, and Jason was eager to get home to his omega.

Okay, Dick was technically not _his_ omega, but they were dating now, and Jason was still basking in the glow of the new relationship. He's gonna get home early, and maybe if there's time he'll cook something to surprise his omega with an after-patrol snack, and then they'd--

\--what they might do after that is an avenue of thought Jason should not pursue while driving lest he crash his motorcycle in his distraction.

Anyways, he arrives at the Bludhaven apartment before Dick does, which is a win. He spends an embarrassingly long time deciding what to make, unsure what will make his omega happiest, before deciding, _It's Dick, he'll eat anything._ So Jason takes a leaf out of Alfred's book and bakes an obscene amount of after-patrol cookies. When asked, he'll claim that it's just because Jason himself wanted chocolate chip cookies and he's an grown ass man, goddamnit, if he wants cookies he'll fucking bake those fuckers--

\--but mostly he does it because his instincts are screaming at him to keep his omega fed and happy.

When the cookies are done and set out on a tray to cool, Jason cleans up the kitchen because that's just the kind of alpha he is. Then he eats a cookie, just to taste test it, and when he deems that acceptable, he arranges them on a plate for his omega's liking. Then he sits on the couch, and...

Waits.

He checks his watch, which reads 3:37 AM. Which is unusually late for Nightwing, who usually finishes patrol around 3, but not totally unheard of. Bludhaven is probably just shittier than usual tonight, is all. Not like that's hard to imagine, although how Bludhaven could possibly get shitter than it already is, Jason can't fathom. 

So he clicks on the TV to some Gordon Ramsay--nothing like a screaming British chef to calm his nerves--and waits.

And waits.

 _Aaaaaand_ waits.

By 4 in the morning, he's annoyed. But by 5? He's starting to get more than a little worried.

When 5:30 rolls around Jason is already putting his leather jacket back on, having determined that Nightwing needs rescuing and decided to take that responsibility into his own hands. Whoever hurt his omega is about to wish they were never born.

He has grabbed his helmet and is pulling it on when he hears the window click and slide open. He dashes over to it, embarrassingly frantic, and is relieved to see it is just Nightwing, letting himself in.

"You fucker, what time do you call this?" Jason demands, pointing at his watch with one angry finger. 

Dick doesn't respond. Once his two feet are on the floor inside the apartment, he sways and staggers before putting his hand on the window frame to steady himself. 

That isn't the only thing horribly wrong with the scene before him. The Nightwing suit has been slashed to ruins, exposing the entirety of Dick's chest and shoulders and worst of all--his neck. Sure enough, his scent-blockers are gone, and the room is permeated with the sickening aroma of _hurt, distressed, in-pain omega._

Dick is _covered_ in blood. He leaves handprints of it on the wall where he grabs it for support, and there are drops of it sliding down to the floor, where they stain the carpet grotesquely red. The worst of it seems to be coming from his shoulder, which has been absolutely _ravaged_ with cuts and stab wounds, but there are many more sources as well--his chest. His stomach. His sides. 

Jason freezes for a moment in all-consuming horror before rushing forward to Dick. "Baby, what _happened?"_ he demands, putting his arm under Dick's to steady him. The omega sags forward against him, leaving bloodstains on his leather jacket--not that Jason cares. 

Somehow, Dick manages to smile. "Not much," he responds, leaning his weight more fully against Jason. "Actually, I was pretty badass."

His voice is a pained whisper, raspy and abused. Jason's heart is practically pounding out of his chest with the desire to protect, to _hurt_ whoever did this to Dick, to go rip someone's throat out--but he can't do that right now. He has to help his omega, or else he's just gonna bleed out on the damned apartment floor. And that is _not_ about to happen on Jason's watch.

"I bet you were," he says, hoping his voice conceals his terror. "I'm gonna call Alfred. We're gonna get you to the cave, they can help you there."

It's a testament to how hurt Dick must be that he just whispers, "Okay," and leans further into Jason's arms. Jason is taking almost all of Dick's weight, and he is not exactly a delicate feather, but he doesn't mind. He picks the omega up, bridal-style, and thanks God for hands-free comm units as he contacts the Batcave. He tries not to look at all the blood. There's way too much of it. 

"Red Hood to Agent A," he says as he leaves the apartment in a rush. He's stolen Dick's car keys, and intends to drive them to the Cave in Dick's car. Generally he prefers his motorbike, but that option is off the table for the night, evidently. "Nightwing in critical condition."

"Do you require a med evac?" Alfred inquires.

"No, I'm bringing him to the Cave. ETA, forty minutes."

"Condition?"

"Blood loss from multiple stab wounds on upper body."

"Understood. We shall be prepared when you arrive."

Jason swallows down the raw fear in his throat and says, "Thanks, Agent A. Hood out."

Jason drives like he has never heard of traffic laws and the speed limit is just a friendly suggestion. In the other seat, Dick fades in and out of consciousness, unresponsive when Jason tries to talk to him. So Jason doesn't talk. He just purrs comfortingly--a sound designed for an Alpha to comfort his mate--and hopes it's working. 

When he arrives at the cave, Alfred and Bruce are prepared. They get Nightwing onto a hospital bed quickly, and start hooking him up to various IV's and other medical equipment Jason doesn't understand. Jason doesn't know what they're doing to his omega, and he feels stupid for not understanding. For not being the one to help. And he feels irrationally threatened. Like Alfred and Bruce are threats he has to protect his omega from. 

Jason doesn't even know he's growling until Bruce points it out to him. He stops abruptly, snapping his jaw shut and gritting his teeth. 

"Go shower," Bruce instructs gruffly. "You're covered in blood."

Jason looks down at himself. So he is. "I'm not leaving him," he snaps, crossing his arms and taking up an aggressive stance. If Bruce thinks he's about to leave his injured omega in the company of two _other alphas,_ then he's out of his mind and in for a _rude fucking awakening._

"You're not doing him any good here," Bruce argues, mimicking his angry pose. "And when he wakes up, he won't want to see you still covered in his blood."

That point is--unfortunately--a good one. He knows Bruce is right, and he wants to do what is right by his omega, but the thought of leaving him here, injured and weak and scared, is--it's _unthinkable._ It physically hurts. 

"I can't leave him," he says, voice shaking and betraying his fear.

Bruce looks surprised, and then his expression softens into understanding. Something Jason never thought he'd see on the grim features of the Bat. 

"Then, how about you just change. You can stay here. How about that?"

That, Jason concedes, is acceptable. He changes his stained Red Hood gear for soft sweatpants and a T-shirt, then stations himself at the chair beside Dick's bed. Alfred is stitching the wound on his shoulder--up close and cleaned, it looks even worse. Not like something inflicted in battle--like something done purposefully, with the intent not to kill, but to _hurt_ as much as possible. Another wave of rage rises up in Jason, and he has to work to squash it down. Even with stitches and proper care, that one is going to leave a _nasty_ scar.

Bruce takes up a seat next to Jason, and under normal circumstances Jason would hate that, but tonight, he is too tired and scared and wrung out to care. He just sighs angrily--but the anger doesn't quite make it through, and someone who didn't know Jason very well might interpret the sound as _fear._

Bruce looks awkward, which is not surprising in the least, but equally as concerned as Jason, which _is_ a little unusual. Jason has been under the impression that Bruce's care for his children extends only as far as whether or not the mission is endangered. Dick has evidently completed his mission, as he came home of his own accord without needing rescue, and that should mean that Bruce is indifferent as to his medical status. 

Bruce opens his mouth, and Jason realizes with dawning horror that he is about to attempt conversation. "You--care about him," the Bat manages to grit out, which is probably a larger emotional revelation than he has experienced in the past ten years combined.

"Yeah," Jason says shortly, an undercurrent of _duh_ running through the word. "Do _you_?"

"Of course," Bruce says, sounding surprised. And, if Jason dives deeper, sad. Like he wishes things weren't like this. "He's my son."

Jason doesn't know how to respond to that, so he doesn't. He just stares resolutely at Dick--his pale face, hair damp with sweat and blood. Injured as he is, he still looks--beautiful. There is probably nothing that could make Jason think otherwise. Dick will always be beautiful to him. 

Unfortunately, Bruce seems disinclined to allow him the mercy of letting their conversation end there. He plows on determinedly. "I have noticed that you two are very close lately," he says.

Jason remains silent. He knows that if Bruce disapproves of their relationship--hell, it's not a matter of _if,_ Bruce _will_ disapprove--Jason won't care, but Dick might. The thought that Dick could leave him because Bruce tells him to is too painful to examine, so he elects not to. They'll cross that bridge when they come to it. 

"And I just wanted to say..."

 _Get it over with, old man,_ Jason thinks viciously, lip curling in a resentful scowl. He's only glad Dick is unconscious. He wants to protect his omega from the pack alpha's disapproval.

"He is... inevitably going to choose an alpha as his mate. And. I would be... glad, if it was you."

"Well you can just _fuck off, you--_ wait, what?" Jason can't believe his ears. Is Bruce seriously giving them his blessing right now?

Better question, is Bruce being mind controlled right now? Because that seems more likely than what is happening right here. 

Bruce grunts, and without prompting, elaborates. "Many alphas would be pleased to have him. Many alphas have tried. With and without his consent. And I know you are... not perfect. We disagree on... almost everything. But I know you'll respect him. And that's everything I want for him in a partner."

Jason gapes, disbelieving. _What the fuck is going on right now?_

"The fuck?" Jason demands out loud.

"Did I misinterpret?" Bruce asks.

"...No."

Bruce nods. "It's hard for me, as a father, to accept that he's grown up. Moving on. He'll be starting his own family, and he won't need me as much. He already doesn't. And just, if he's going to be doing that with anyone, I'm glad it's you. I know you. And I don't know if you trust me... but _I_ trust _you._ And _he_ trusts you. That's what's important. And--I don't know if any other alpha could make him happy. I think, for him, it's always been you."

Jason is left speechless, and it seems like Bruce is done with whatever this is, so they sit in silence beside Dick.

\---

When he wakes up, Dick is surprisingly chipper. He usually is, of course, but in the wake of Jason's own all-consuming terror at the thought of losing Dick, he had assumed that his omega would also be feeling at least a little upset. But as they prepare to leave the cave--Bruce has trusted Jason to take care of him at the Bludhaven apartment, and if his words last night hadn't shocked Jason, this unprecedented gesture of trust blows him away--Dick is calm and smiling as he reassures Bruce, Alfred, Tim, and Damian that he'll be okay in Jason's care.

It isn't until they're alone in the car--which Alfred had thoughtfully cleaned, so the interior is free of bloodstains--that the grin falls and Dick actually starts to look like someone who'd almost been stabbed to death. He falls quiet as Jason drives. 

"Everything okay?" Jason asks gently, trying not to show his alarm. It is only the knowledge that he needs to stay calm for his omega that keeps him from turning the car around and zooming them straight back to the cave for further medical care under Alfred's skilled expertise. 

"Mmhm," says Dick unconvincingly. 

"Dick, if you're--"

"Later," the omega interrupts. "At home. Just drive."

So Jason drives.

\---

They arrive at the apartment and Dick rejects Jason's offer to carry him up to his apartment--he insists upon standing on his own two feet as they take the elevator up to Dick's place. He beelines to the his nest as soon as they're through the door, and Jason, who knows the rules well by this point, waits by the bedroom door for permission to come in. Woe betide any alpha who enters Dick's room--let alone his nest--without express permission.

"You can come into the room," Dick says, but glares and growls at Jason when he comes too close to the nest. So he sits in an armchair a respectful distance away.

"Sorry," Dick says.

"No need," Jason says. He is perfectly content to sit here if that's what makes his omega feel safe. "So... what happened?"

"Not right now," Dick says again, sounding upset. To reassure Jason, he continues, "Later. I promise I will tell you. But right now... it's too soon. I need a nap."

"Of course, baby," Jason promises, heartbroken for his omega. He is still suppressing the urge to track down whoever did this and make them _hurt._ "You just let me know when you're ready."

Dick curls up in his nest, covered in quilts and comfy blankets. Jason maintains his respectful distance but remains on-site in case the omega needs him. He is sitting on the couch, reading a book, a few hours later, when Dick emerges from his room.

"You can come in now," he invites.

That is all Jason needs to hear before he joins the omega in the nest, pulling him in close against his chest. He kisses his hair and forehead, purring calmingly as Dick settles into his embrace.

"It was that villain from a few weeks ago," Dick begins against his chest a few minutes later, when they are both comfortable in each other's arms. "Who found out I'm an omega."

Jason strokes Dick's back--gently, avoiding his wounds. "Yeah?" he prompts.

"I fought her, and she managed to drug me. She used alpha commands to win. I could resist them, of course, but they were stronger than usual, so I... hesitated." He swallows. "When I woke up I was in a basement, chained to a wooden chair. She had a camera, so she recorded the whole thing." Dick adjusts himself so his head is buried in the crook of Jason's neck, and he's speaking against his shoulder. "She cut off the top part of my suit and took off my scent blockers. Once she knew for sure I was an omega, she started telling me to... submit. She was--alpha-commanding me. And every time I resisted she cut me. Just. Over and over."

Jason breathes out in awe. It is extremely difficult for an omega to resist an alpha-command. Harder under difficult conditions. But Dick had done it, over and over again, while drugged and being tortured.

"She kept telling me to be... a _good_ omega. That I should just. Submit. That's all I had to do to get her to stop. All she wanted."

Jason snarls. "That's disgusting."

Dick shudders against him. "It was--God, it was _awful._ She made me feel--made me feel _worthless._ Like because I'm an omega, I'm just. Less than. Only useful for--"

Jason stops him right there, leaning away to look into his eyes intensely. "Listen to me right now, Dick," he said, voice deadly serious, but _not_ an alpha-command. Never an alpha-command, never with his beautiful omega. "You are--you are so much more than your designation. That means nothing. _Nothing._ You are strong, and kind, and smart, and--God, _beautiful,_ and that she did that to you? Fucking disgusting." 

Dick, who had started to tear up almost imperceptibly at Jason's words, buries his face back in the alpha's chest. "Thank you, alpha," he whispers, lips brushing against Jason's chest. 

Jason holds him tight, and they stay there for a long time.

\---

Dick does not patrol that night, because while he is no stranger to pushing his limits, even he knows it would be monumentally stupid to go out less than twenty four hours after an epic, stabby torture session. He is still trying not to think about it too much. Despite Jason's kind words, the villain's torture had... _gotten_ to him, somewhere deep. Had made him feel worthless. Disgusting. Weak.

So he stays in his nest with Jason's leather jacket as Jason himself goes on patrol as the Red Hood. When he returns early that morning to join Dick in his nest, he is grinning. 

"What's got you all smiley?" Dick murmurs, half asleep.

"Let's just say," Jason tells him, wrapping his arms around him, "that villain will not be bothering you anymore."

**Author's Note:**

> tysm for reading! constructive criticism is welcome as always! if you have any jaydick prompts you'd like to see written let me know and I might just be able to get you hooked up lol
> 
> anyways thanks again for reading!


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